


Miss Missing You

by theywerefireworks (orphan_account)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Amnesia, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Memory Loss, Memory Related, Temporary Amnesia, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6084957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/theywerefireworks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kids may have brought back happy memories of the summer to Stan’s brain, but Ford knows that’s only half the battle. It’s the painful memories that will truly bring back the Stanley that he knows and loves, but at what cost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss Missing You

Memories are a fickle thing.

Memories could twist and turn in on themselves, mold to emotions, become shadows of their former selves, even be overwritten. They could also be forgotten; either in the slow, debilitating state of Alzheimer’s, or in an instant through amnesia. Memories could be lost partially, they could be retrieved through sight, smell, or words. Memories could be triggered and then lost in the next instant. They could be slowly regained over time, due to the brain’s amazing plasticity. They would also be radically changed, with the past dictated and twisted and falsified. He knew plenty of cases where even simple volunteers who witnessed a crime and were of sound mind would remember things dramatically different from how they happened. Such was the mind, and it constantly played tricks on us all.   


  


Because of all these things, all these factors… Ford was hesitant, he was nervous. Hell, he was positively, downright scared. He did not have the peace of mind or even the size of heart as his great niece and nephew, who dove straight into bringing his brother’s memories to life. He couldn’t fault their young innocence, and he certainly couldn’t fault their reference pool. What they had to work with really worked; Mabel had been such a thorough record-keeper of the summer that every detail was highlighted in some fashion. Gnome-beard hair, Dipper’s chest hair, newspaper articles, bagged unicorn fluid samples and even what appeared to be mermaid scales littered the book, on top of photos upon photos upon drawings. Mabel’s creativity as well as her attention to detail literally saved her great uncle’s mind, and he had happily but slowly returned to the grumpy grunk they all knew him as. Except, of course, when Mabel had reached the page about Ford’s return and about the portal starting and collapsing. As soon as Mabel flipped to the page Ford had stiffened, watching Stan’s face carefully.

“--And this is best day so far, Grunkle Stan! Your brother came home, after waiting 30 years for him to walk back out of a multidimensional portal!” Mabel had started happily. At these words, though, Stan’s smile had faded and his brow had furrowed. Something steely in his eyes had flashed then, causing Ford’s throat to clench. In an instant, he had put a hand on Mabel’s shoulder, clearing his throat gently.

“I think that's enough memory recognition for one day, Mabel,” he stated gently, to which she quickly turned and opened her mouth, retaliation at the ready. As soon as she saw his face, however, hers dropped and she nodded in understanding. As always, Stanford was amazed by her insight -- she saw everything Dipper didn’t. Stan, for his part, had merely waved a hand and shrugged it off.

“Eh, the man --   _Ford_ , right? -- is right. My mind feels like it’s back already! We should probably figure out what do for sleeping in this mess of a house, though…” and the subject of Stan’s memories dropped.  


Luckily, sleeping arrangements were made with little complication. Because of what the Pines had done for the town, the local motel was more than happy to give the best rooms to them for free, which Ford couldn’t have been more grateful for. Stan had moved through town, eating up the praise that the locals kept throwing at them, even if he didn't particularly know why yet. Despite this, though, his character clearly shown brightly under the attention, especially when flirting with every woman or man who walked by with a cheer.

The sight was bittersweet for Ford; it was beautiful to see his brother glowing under the praise, but his was heart heavy knowing that he probably wouldn't be, once Ford had to tell him the truth. The _whole_ truth.

As wonderful as Stan being happy was, he wouldn’t truly be ‘Stan’ until all the unpleasantness of their lives came to his attention. Mabel had almost sparked it but he didn't want her to have to deal with that, to have to see that. That would be _his_ job, not the job of two extraordinary soon-to-be-13-year-olds. He wanted all of their memories of their beloved grunkle to be happy and unmarred with sadness or regret.

So they went to the motel. For two days, they stayed there, while the Shack was repaired. On the Tuesday after Weirdmageddon had ended, Ford found himself in the phone with Fiddleford, conversing in the hotel lobby about how the reconstruction of the Shack was going. Him and Manly Dan still had the original plans for the house, but it hadn’t been until the day prior that Fids had found time to get to the house for inspection and repair.

“And everything is going smoothly?” Ford inquired gently over the phone's receiver. It was the receptionist’s phone, and he stood awkwardly off to the side, trying to stay out of the way of anyone coming up to the counter.

“Smooth as my grease-monkey wrench!” was the enthusiastic reply on the other end of the line. “Should get ‘er back up and runnin’ by tomorrow! Figuratively speakin’ a course.” Ford breathed out a laugh at that, the smile pulling at his lips as he recalled how he had seen the Shack literally walking and fighting Bill’s minions, gaining precious time for the rest of them.

“Will you be able to salvage anything from the wreck? Any parts and pieces?” Fiddleford laughed at Ford’s question, as if it was the silliest thing to. The laugh itself was more worn and broken than Ford remembered, but hearing his old friend in a right state made him happy, and gave him hope for Stan’s eventual full recovery. “A course I can, who’ya think yer talkin’ to, Fordsy? Most of ‘em have already been sent out for patents! Be might nice to get some cash a-comin’ in for all this junk around here”.

Ford knew that nothing Fiddleford ever concocted would be even close to the meaning of ‘junk’, but he humored the old man anyway and laughed. Despite his joviality, his voice sobered in the next sentence. “If you also find any old metal from the portal, Fidds, can you do me a favor and just...melt it down. Reuse it. Destroy any blue print copies, dismantle any live--”

“Ya don’t have to explain it all to me, Stanford,” Fiddleford interjected, cutting Ford off. Ford reflexively dropped his head, the hand in his coat pocket fidgeting anxiously. He gave a curt nod that Fiddleford couldn't see on the other end if the line.

“Right. Of course. Thank you, Fiddleford. And I- I’m sorry, for never listening until --”

“Ah codswallop, Ford. The past is in the past. Stopped the world ending after all though, didntya? Ain’t nobody gonna start it up again under my watch.”

Ford’s swallowed down any emotion that was collecting in his throat, dislodging it with a quick cough. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar man in a familiar suit waltz into the lobby, looking around.

“I have to get going, Fiddleford, but again, thank you for the update and -- everything else.” He heard a faint “yah got it, buddy!” as he dropped the receiver and waved, getting his brother’s attention. As soon as he saw him, Stan lit up and walked over, hands in pockets.

“Hey, Ford, good to see yah bro. Good news from the nerd HQ on the phone?”

Ford stared at him for a moment, almost completely taken, his heart leaping. His brother was looking good today, and he sounded...God, he sounded _just_ like himself. But Ford knew Stan wasn't all there yet, he was not yet the Stan he knew and loved. He once again swallowed how he was feeling, straightened, and fixed a genuine smile on his face.

“Great news, even. The Shack should be as good as new by tomorrow. Fiddleford will give us an update on when it's habitable again.” At this news, Stan’s big, signature grin lit up his face. Ford nearly teared up at the sight.

The next line, however, shattered the ‘ _Stan_ ’ persona, reminding Ford once again just what he was dealing with.

“Man, you know, it’s crazy, heh! This whole town loves us, and they keep mentioning this weird-a-whatsit that happened, but everything is fine! It’s like a big tornado came in that just took out that one building, huh.” He looked out the big sliding doors towards the sunlight streaming in, throwing the whole lobby in a bright yellow midday light. Stan’s eyes looked dreamy; Ford’s eyes looked worried and hesitant.

It got worse as Stan looked to him and grinned again. “Heh, can you believe that house is supposed to be _my_ house? Nice place-- bet it looks even better all fixed up.”

“It certainly does,” Ford replied, as calmly as possible. He then reached an arm out to Stan, who took it happily, more than comfortable in being led around by this man he currently viewed as a caretaker. “Come on, let’s head back to the room, I wanna talk to you about something. About-about the house. And it’s history.

“Where are the kiddos at today?” Stan asked him happily as he was led back to the room they shared. The kids stayed in the room next to theirs.

“They are out with friends today, enjoying the last week of summer and advertising their birthday party. It’s on Friday and it’ll be at the Shack.” Ford’s reply was soft and measured, and he watched Stan carefully to make sure every word registered. Stan took a moment to digest this, then smiled again. This smile was softer, and there was a sadness to his eyes.

“They are leaving after the party, aren’t they. Summer is over soon. They gotta go home to their Ma and Pops.” Ford nodded sadly and opened the door to their room.

“Yes, that is correct.” He led Stan into the room, his hand on the small of Stan’s back. Stan walked in and flopped onto one of the twin beds in the room, letting out a deep sigh. His fingers ran through his hair, and his face took on an incredibly somber look.

A look Ford recognized as a deep, bittersweet remembrance.

“God,” he finally let out, more of a sad sigh than an actual phrase. The gruff edge to his voice as noticeable as the lines on his face. “I’m gonna miss those kids. I don't know what I’ll do without them.”

Ford frowned, his face struck with pain for just a moment before he took a breath, readjusting himself. He had Stan here now, and he had to do his best to fully bring him back out.

“Stanley, remember how I said I wanted to talk to you about something?”

Stan pulled himself out of his reverie to raise a questioning eyebrow. “Remember? Yeah, it happened, like, five minutes ago.”

_Good. Short term memory is still good. Okay._

“Well, I first wanted to ask you a few things,” Ford heard Stan groan loudly and he put his hands up in solidarity. “Just a few questions I promise you! No twenty questions this time.”

Stan rubbed his eyes from under his glasses. “Good, because you and everyone else constantly asking me _questions_ makes my head ache.” Ford took a deep breath and nodded, pulling up a nearby hotel desk chair and turning it around so that the back faced Stan. He rested his arms on it, casually leaning forward.

“Alright, well, this question is easy. Probably...maybe.” Ford shook his head and waved a hand while Stan just watched him, eyebrow raised. “Anyway, _ahem_. I just… I wanted to ask what you know about me.”

There was a beat of silence as Stan just stared at him. Ford searched his face, looking for anything while awaiting his response.

“What, like what your name is and stuff, or what your favorite color is?”

“Just, anything you know. Doesn’t matter what it is. Maybe the kids told you something I didn’t.”

Another beat. Another look. Then, a shrug from the body of Stan.

“I...not much I guess. I mean, your name is Ford...Stanford, right? Stanford Pines, because you're my brother. My twin brother. You don’t like pancakes as much as you like waffles. You have six fingers and…” his face screwed up in concentration and Ford’s breath hitched. Then something dark passed over his eyes.

“And I got you back this summer.” Stan’s mouth moved slowly, forming each word carefully. “But I don’t...I don’t know what that means.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. He had been looking away from Ford while he tried to recollect locked away memories, but met his eyes again when Ford gently cleared his throat.

“Next question is...do you want to know what you don’t remember?”

The weight of the question did not escape Stan, and his hand lowered, face frowning.

“Why do I get the feeling I won’t like what you tell me?” Ford gave him a pained look and sighed.

“You won’t but it’s important for you to know. You don’t have the best past. And you certainly don’t have the best past with me.”

The words sat between them heavily. The air conditioner kicked on towards the far end of the room, ruffling the curtains, causing waving shadows to cast through the room. Stan’s face watched him, uncertain. Eventually he swallowed and shrugged.

“No big deal, right? Nobody has a perfect life, even if the summer I remember with the kids has been pretty great.”

“It’s probably been the best summer you’ve had in over 40 years.” It was another blow, and Ford had to fight the urge to flinch when he saw it connect. Stan’s face went dark.

“That bad, huh.”

Ford just nodded, before swallowing himself. A tongue darted out, wetting his lips.

“Look, Stanley, this is… going to be hard. But you need to know. You need to know or you won’t be…. you won’t be ‘ _Stanley_.’ You’ll just be a shadow of the man he used to be. The man I destroyed.”

Stanley’s eyes widened and he shifted uncomfortably away from Ford. Ford, for his part, just clenched his jaw, gripping the top of the chair tightly to keep from shaking.

“Wh-what is that supposed to mean?” Stan growled, his voice growing steely. “Look, if I need to call the cops, buddy--”

“No, no, please, nothing like that. I… we both agreed to do what happened to you. At the time, you were okay with it.”

“Do... what? Take away my memories?”

“Yes. You, the ah, the Stanley Pines I know and love -- you gave up everything for the sake of the world. The sake of the universe… and for the sake those kids.” Ford’s face grew sadder and more tired with each word. As he watched the man in front of him, he seemed to become more and more aware, more looking like he wanted to flee.

“I...I did this to myself to keep those kids safe?”   
  
“In-indeed,” Ford choked out, cursing his inability to keep his emotions intact. He expected this to go downhill quickly, but suddenly Stan’s features softened. “Heh, sounds like somethin’ I’d do, honestly. Never want anything to hurt those kids, so why not? Not much up there anyway, clearly.”

“No, Stan, don’t say that, _please_ ,” Ford’s words came out more as a plea than a statement, and Stan looked taken aback. He took a breath and looked away again, a 6 fingered hand massaging the top of the chair. “Please, do not say that, Stanley. Your mind was - _is-_ a wonderful thing, and losing it has destroyed me. I refuse to let you lose it again, but to gain it back…” He trailed off for a beat before taking a steadying breath. “Stanley, I said you did this to save the kids? You also did it to save me.”

“Well, you’re a nice guy, you’ve been nice since I’ve known you so--”

“No, Stanley, you don’t understand, please.” Stan stopped and scowled, watching him carefully. Ford closed his eyes slowly. This was so hard. So, so hard. Carefully, he opened his eyes again, locking them with Stan’s. His eyes were bright, but nervous. They were wide, scrunched at the edges, interested but also unsure. The naivety still clung to them like a child. Ford couldn’t take it. _He couldn’t take it._

“I’m so sorry, just know I’m so _so_ sorry, Stanley,” he said softly. The eyes across from his widened. “You wiped your memories to save mine. A demon bent on destroying the world wanted knowledge only my mind had.” As he spoke, he watched Stan as his breathing picked up, his arms twitched. “This demon was a dream demon… he could be destroyed if the mind he entered was wiped.”

Stan just shook his head. Something in his eyes seemed very, very afraid.

“My mind couldn’t be entered… or wiped. I have a metal plate protecting my mind. But yours could be. We both agreed that… the most logical course of action would be…”

“No…” the sound was small, desperate. Ford’s heart felt like breaking, the tears forming in his eyes but refusing to fall. He couldn’t stop now.

“We had to, Stanley. We had to, or Bill would have won, he would killed everyone, and my mistake of building that portal would have --”

Faster than he could have ever anticipated, the punch landed to the side of his face. Ford couldn’t stop the tears that were already on the brink from falling over the edge, streaming down his face as a sharp pain spread from his left cheek. As he brought his head back to center, he caught a flash of angry, red eyes and tear-stained cheeks before another blow took him again, this time from the right. Rough hands grabbed Ford’s jacket and he coughed, looking back up at his enraged brother.

“ _Goddamn mutherfucker_ ,” Stan growled out. Ford blinked and readjusted his glasses to get a clearer view of Stan’s face. It was covered in angry, hot tears, his cheeks red, his features contorted in rage. Ford swallowed and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I swear to god, Stanley-” his response was met with another irate punch. He coughed and tasted blood in the back of his mouth.

“YOU MUTHERFUCKER! You almost killed everyone! You almost destroyed THE WORLD!! And all over a stupid -- ! And I you could have -- and I should’ve…”

His grip on Ford lessened as the man in front of him sat back down onto the bed, sobs wracking his body as his hands covered his face and eyes. Ford’s heart ached and he wished to reach out to him, but he knew he couldn’t. Not now. He didn’t want to hurt Stan any more than he already was. Instead, he rubbed his jaw, doing his best to temper his own tears. He swallowed and coughed again, clearing his throat. When he next spoke, the words felt raw, destroyed.

“What… what did you remember?” Stan just shook his head. For a few seconds, he did nothing but mutter small sobs, with the occasional ‘ _oh my god, I… oh my god_ ’, barely making comprehensible sentences. Ford gave him another few moments, before licking his lips again, wincing as his tongue whispers over a cut. “Stanley, please…”

“I remember a cage,” he said raggedly from between his fingers. “I remember you and I remember a monster. I remember that horrifying three-sided asshole taking the kids and threatening to kill them. I remember fighting with you but also… also we switched clothes and I felt… god I wanted to kiss you so bad, Ford.”

Ford’s face heated immediately. Okay, he definitely remembered that.. _.look_ on Stan’s face. One that he held back, one that said he wanted to do something _more_ but wasn’t sure what Ford had wanted. And of course, Ford had wanted to kiss Stan as well. 40 long years and they finally had each other but no way to do anything, initiate anything. There had just been a quick strip down, and then - then the briefest of hugs. It had taken his breath away, but only for a moment because the next thing they knew Bill was upon and the children about to die.

He wrung his hands together, trying not to get lost in his own memories as well.

“Yes. That all… that all happened. Not in that order though. I had been captured by Bill and the house…” Stan nodded along, lifting his head a bit, listening. Ford took that as a cue to continue. “The house had been transformed into a large fighting robot by Fiddleford.”

“Yeah. Ultra-nerd. Super twitchy. Not all there.” His voice was rough, like dry stones scraping together.

“The same thing that happened to you happened to him 30 years ago, but it was self inflicted.”

“Explains a lot, really,” Stan said softly. He was still looking at the ground, but he moved to take his glasses off, holding them in one hand while the other rubbed away at his aching eyes. “Concocted this crazy plan that almost got all of us killed. I didn’t wanna deal with it. Didn’t wanna deal with you. I didn’t even wanna fucking _look_ at you.”

“Yes, I don’t suppose you would have wanted to, and you weren’t happy to see me at all. We tried to defeat Bill with a prophetic --”

“-More like cockamammie balderdash --” Stan mumbled and Ford couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his features. _Yes, there you are, come on, please come on back to me._

“--Heh, yes, it was a bit hogwash, but you refused to hold my hand. You haven’t held my hand in almost 40 years, so I can understand that must have been hard, but...you did it, and then-”

“You had to be a smart ass and correct me,” Stan angrily growled. “that demon ass captured us and you know the rest.” Stan’s face contorted, as if in pain. “Fuck… fuck this, fuck everything, fuck that shit.”

“Yes, you were very...upset with me.”

“You wouldn’t say thank you.”

“No, I...I wouldn’t. I didn’t think I was… worth saving.”

“You fell into the portal because of me.”

Ford started and stared at his brother. He met Stan’s eyes again and… something _different_ was there. Some clarity to the sadness and tired edges to his eyes. Ford swallowed again, trying to find his voice.

“Wh-what do you remember?” Ford asked. Stan looked away again, his face worrying into a frown.

“There was a fight… something happened to my shoulder. God… _God_ … I spent. I spent 30 years, getting you back?”

“Y-yes. I believe that is what you said to us. You ran the Mystery Shack as a tourist trap and it was quite successful… but never enough to bring me back. The kids brought my journals to you. You were able to get me back because of those kids.”

Stan ran another hand over his face, through his hair, resting over his mouth and chin. He looked over to the window, where the curtains still swayed in the artificial breeze of the air conditioner. Despite the current, the room felt stifled and hot between them. Ford watched him carefully, tense, analyzing every movement. He could only imagine what kind of battle was raing in his twin’s head, what with the memories all being dredged up at once. As Stan looked out towards the window and Ford caught the tears that silently ran down his cheeks and through his fingers. As quietly as possible, Ford moved himself from the chair to the bed, settling beside him softly. Stan didn’t move; Ford took the silence as an opportunity to remove his coat, fold it, set it on the floor next to him. As he did so, Stan stirred and Ford turned to watch him. His back was still toward him, but the shift brought his face partially into view.

“Tell me we didn’t always hate each other, Ford,” He whispered out, the words a plea more than a request. Ford swallowed and put a hand on his shoulder, turning him to face him a little bit better. Stan couldn’t meet his eyes; they would constantly dart away whenever they lingered too long, and his hands fidgeted in his lap. Ford wiped his mouth again, pulling a hand away to inspect the amount of blood there. He could also feel the bruise forming just under his eye, but he tried not to pay it any mind.

“Ah… well, no. We, _heh_ , used to be best friends, Stan. When we were kids. Because… because we didn’t know any better.” Ford looked down but he still caught the way Stan’s eyes widened slightly; he knew Ford was echoing the words Stan spoke inside Bill’s pyramid castle. Tentatively, he moved his hand down to Stan’s, taking it in his carefully. Six fingers moved over five; he curled them in and held them in his own. His next words were soft, sincere.

“We grew up on the Jersey shore, just us and mom and pop. Shermie didn’t come until we were both nearly out of the house. We only had each other and the shoreline where we went looking for adventure. There was… there was even a boat. A ship.”

A light intake of air. “The Stan-o-War.” Ford nodded, playing with Stan’s hands, a smile on his lips.

“Yes. It was our dream to get away on it, one day. Sail away forever. Then, I would never be bullied, and you would never have to worry about the expectations of our father. Filbrick was always --”

“Tough as a cinderblock, and not easily impressed,” Stan parroted out. Ford laughed lightly.   


“Hit the nail on the head with that one, Stan.”

“Eh, it’s all slowly comin’ back. Nothing really good about dad, but ma did the best she could with three stubborn men in the house.” Ford laughed more genuinely that time, fingers interlocking with Stan’s. He chanced a glance; the grin there on Stan’s face was so genuine his heart felt it might leap out of its chest.

“Well, how about this. Do you remember summer, 1968? Do you remember that night on the beach, and the fireworks?” Another tiny gasp as Stan’s lips parted. Ford kept going, the heat rising to his face slightly.  “It was a  beach party we weren’t interested in, so we left early, stupid teenagers that we were. We snuck away to the Stan-o-war, a few beers in hand. We watched the fireworks and you… ah…”

Ford swallowed but the words caught in his throat. It wasn’t like he didn’t know this memory back to back, like the palm of his hand. But recounting it so vividly, it was more than he could handle. His heart hammered and he bowed his head, unable to look at Stan. Finally, he cleared his throat, still unable to meet Stan’s eyes.

“Anyway, you looked at me and--” The words caught in his throat again but for a very different reason. Warm wet lips met his, hands grabbing at his face and pulling his up and out of his head. Stan angled his head for a better connection, the fervency catching Ford off guard. Muscle memory took over for the next few steps, eyes sliding close and lips sliding apart, pushing up against Stan who groaned into his lips. The fire erupting in his gut snaked its way up his spine as he turned his face for better contact with his twin, his brother. His brain was in between switching off and screaming at him -- it was so _Stan_ to do something as impulsive as this, but if it wasn’t… if it _wasn’t…_

Grabbing Stan’s arms, Ford reluctantly pulled himself away from Stan’s lips taking a heady breath. Inches away, his brother cursed, murmuring out a low _‘Sixer…’_ that sent shivers up his spine. It was so hard to extrude himself just a few more inches away, just to get a breath, to know _for sure_.

“Stanley, please… what do you remember?” His voice came out weaker and more strained than he would like. Meeting his brother eyes, he was surprised to see them looking so dark, looking straight at... Ford turned away. “I can’t -- I can’t do this with you if you don’t --”

“Winter of ‘68,” Stan started huskily, and Ford snapped his eyes back to him, eyes wide in shock. “Eights days of Hanukkah; Pops always insisted on it. It was always boring, but I made the nights fun for both of us.” The memory paired with Stan’s mischievous grin sent a wave of heat through him he hadn’t felt in… god. How many years had it been? His body involuntarily moved closer to Stan.

“Okay but I need more than that, Stanley,” Ford said, once again, swallowing, trying to keep composure -- or at least feign it. It was crumbling fast, and continued to crumble as Stan captured his lips in another passionate, heartfelt kiss. Ford unabashedly moaned into the contact, tears forming in his eyes. _God_ it felt so good, it was just like he remembered, but he needed to be sure. _One hundred percent._

Stan pulled the contact this time, and Ford hated the way he silently whined at the lack of Stan’s lips on his. Stan rested his forehead against Ford’s and they moved closer again.

“Fall of ‘69.” His voice purred in Ford’s ear and Ford had to shut his eyes tight and take a deep breath. He knew this memory. He _knew this memory oh god he knew -_ “Senior year was startin’ up. I decided to celebrate by grabbing you during your study hall and pushing you up against the wall in the abandoned classroom, making you yell so loud the bird’s took off outsi-”

Ford couldn’t take it. _He couldn’t take it_. It was enough; he growled and lunged forward, lips meeting Stan’s furiously, pushing him down onto the mattress below them, tongue lashing out to capture Stan’s and any other words he might have said in that sentence. Below him, he felt Stan laugh, felt his chest heaving as the air rushed out of his nose, but Ford was full to bursting now. He wasted no time in rolling his hips down onto Stan’s, cutting his twin’s laughter off as it moaned out of him this time, their lips parting as Stan’s head rolled back, back arching slightly.

“ _Jesus_ Sixer,” He breathed as Ford moved from his mouth to his neck to his collarbone. “Someone’s impatient today.” Ford can tell he was saying it just to goad him, especially as Stan’s hips kicked up to meet his, causing him to gasp and grab at his brother’s arms. In retaliation, Ford sat up, grabbing any button he could find on Stan and undoing it as fast as his six fingers would allow.

“I’m surprised you aren’t as impatient as I am, Stanley,” He said evenly, even though his swollen pupils and heated face belied his calm attitude. “40 years apart, then thinking you were gone forever in that head of yours?” The fingers opened the jacket, then the buttoned shirt underneath. Stan just chuckled up at him, watching his hurried motions with hungry eyes.

“You look like a man dying of thirst whose stumbled onto an oasis,” Stan chuckled up at him, to which Ford just replied by pressing his large palm into the growing bulge in Stan’s pants. Ford smiled darkly as his brother writhed underneath him, a throaty sound escaping him.

“Well, maybe that’s because I finally got back what I was thirsting for,” he said huskily. Finally, he freed Stan from his shirt and his hands were free to feel out every little bit of his brother he hadn’t been introduced to. Sure he had a stomach, and he had hair -- but it was all so wonderful and beautiful because it was his _brother_ looking at him with those eyes that he recognized, it was his _brother_ that was moaning and writhing under his touch, just like he did so long ago. It was _Stanley_ that squirmed under his kisses and grabbed at his hair and pulled and whispered his name and…and...

“Woah, woah… hey, _Stanford,_ hey…”

The hands stopped, but then, so had Ford. He was clinging to his brother, his face on his chest, body wracked with the sobs he had barely been holding in all night. The tears flowed freely, down into his nose, his mouth, tasting salty before they fell into Stan’s chest where they rolled away, and Stan’s hands thread through his hair, slower, more comforting. And still, Stanford cried. He cried and clung to his brother, if only to make sure he really was there. Above him, he heard the soft murmurs of words, soothing and calming and everything he needed to hear. Slowly, the combination of hands in his hair and Stanley’s gruff voice brought him back down, and Ford composed himself, taking even breaths and wiping his tears away. Gently, he felt a tap on his shoulder and moved up to Stan’s face. His twin was looking at him, an expression so soft it almost caused him to cough out into another crying fit. Instead, he just laughed, shaking his head. When he next looked at Stan, his eyes swam again.

“I thought I’d lost you, Stanley. For good.”

The look the Stan gave him was so knowing, so understanding, that it hurt his very soul.

“I know, Stanford. Because I lived it. I lived with that feeling for 30 years. And then you came back… and punched me in the face.”

Ford laughed at that. “Well, you came back to me and I got punched three times to the face. I’d say I’d call that even.” Stan just shrugged in response, looking as innocent as possible.

“Well, you know, if you’d like, I can make it an even four times, because if you leaving me like this, I will be punching you in the balls later.”

Ford’s laughter just grew, for if there was anything that told him his brother was back, it was that. Again, Ford captured Stan’s lips with his own, pressing into him was as much force as he could muster. Stan’s groan and melting frame only added fuel to the fire and Ford was quick to deepen the kiss, to roll his hips down, helping to get them both back to where they had left off. It didn’t take long; the very idea of their bodies being flush and the heat radiating up from Stan was enough to get Ford hard and swollen once again, his pants causing more pain than pleasure. He knew Stan wasn’t too far behind either, and as Ford broke the kiss to allow his hands to fumble with buttons and belts, he couldn’t help but hear Stan groan huskily out underneath him. The shiver his spine felt from the sound was almost enough for him to get off right then and there.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, Ford…” Ford rolled his head back before letting it rest on Stan’s forehead. They were both hot and panting from wanton need and Ford found himself deliriously high off of the feeling. He hadn’t even pulled his cock out all the way yet but he was already rutting back down onto Stan’s erection. The sounds that poured out of his brother were the sweetest soundtrack.

“You have no idea how happy those words make me, Stan,” he breathed out, causing a smile to dance along Stan’s lips. Ford couldn’t help but kiss that smile, again and again, as finally, _finally_ was able to free Stan’s dick from it’s confines. Stan sighed happily but it was cut off with a whine as Ford grabbed it in his hand, running his fingers up and down the shaft. Ford reveled in the feel of it, of the look, all plump and smooth and already leaking. Stan’s entire body curved up as Ford let his thumb rub circles over the head, six fingers running over his length. Ford reveled in knowing that _no one_ would ever be able to touch Stan like he could, pull out the sounds from his brother that he could. “I hope you remember how this feels, Stan, ‘cause my hands are one of a kind.”

His brother, for how much he may or may not have been able to respond, simply whined out, swallowing the yell before it became too much. He had already grabbed for a hotel pillow, and into it Ford heard the muffled sounds of _‘fuckin’ goddamnit Sixer stop fucking around and get on with it already.”_

Ford heard his words loud and clear, and, getting his own dick out, took both in his hand, moving them both against his palm and each other. The sensation was mind-blowing;they both gasped as a wave of simultaneous pleasure moved through them. Ford grabbed at Stan’s shoulders, his arms, searching for purchase as Stan scrabbled against Ford’s arms and back, one hand pulling at his sweatshirt, the other hand pressed against the pillow on his face, masking the sounds the contact was wringing out of him. It was hard enough for Ford to work them both, but seeing Stan wrung out, and writhing underneath him, it was too much _too much,_  and with a particularly hearty tug he has gasping out and swallowing a yell as the orgasm moved through him, his cum shooting out, hot and thick. Yet somehow, he kept going, his hand working until he also felt the pulse from Stan’s dick in his hand, heard his muffled howl into the pillow, and felt the wet heat spill in between their bodies and all over Stan’s stomach. Ford pulled out a few more tugs -shuddering under the over-sensitive high climaxing always brought- before rolling over on the hotel bed, chest heaving. He heard Stan’s ragged breathing grow louder next to him and the soft _thump_ of a pillow on the other side of the room. Ford grinned and huffed out a laugh, hand reaching out to find Stan’s arm. As soon as he did, he traveled down and grabbed his hand; Stan responded by grabbing those six fingers tight, reluctant to let go. Ford looked over at Stan and the beaming smile bearing down at him was so _Stanley_ it made him feel heady all over again.

“I missed you, Stanley,” he coughed out softly. The face of his twin softened, but the smile never left.

“I missed missing you too, Poindexter.” At that Ford couldn’t help but laugh, and he pulled himself in close, breathing in deep the smell of Stan and sex and whatever crazy cologne he used since he’d been gone all those years. He made sure to memorize it, commit it to memory, and never let it go.

Memory was a fickle thing. It could be shut out, forgotten, hated, or betray their owner. But for Stanford Pines, this memory was unforgettable. It would never be set aside, where it could decay and twist away from him.   


No, this one was for him - and for Stanley. A moment in which Ford decided he would never miss anything about the man next to him again, and would make sure as hell that man never forgot it.


End file.
